


Look For Me Everywhere the Burn Marks Form

by dharmaavocado



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Relationships, M/M, off screen depiction of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:06:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21688825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dharmaavocado/pseuds/dharmaavocado
Summary: He carefully held the shard between two fingers, turning it so it caught the light.  “Who are you really?”Chirrut’s head cocked to the side.  He always could hear the way the kyber sang.  It had been a great honor when the abbot had allowed him to mine the shard.  Baze had been so swollen with pride that Chirrut said he was in danger of ripping the seams of his robes.“Go on,” Chirrut said.  “Tell him.”In which Baze is lost and then found, and Chirrut is (nearly) always right.
Relationships: Chirrut Îmwe/Baze Malbus
Comments: 27
Kudos: 249
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2019





	Look For Me Everywhere the Burn Marks Form

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HopeofDawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeofDawn/gifts).



> Title taken from the Mountain Goats song _Going Invisible 2_.
> 
> Written for HopeofDawn for the Fandom Trumps Hate auction. She was incredibly patient for the insane amount of time it took me to finish this, which I am eternally grateful for. I hope you like it.

_The Enlightenment_ fell out of hyperspace with a pained groan. She shuddered and went still, a terrible silence creeping from the engine room to settle over them like a shroud. 

“Do you know,” Chirrut said with the ironic cheerfulness Baze had grown to hate, “I think you were right about the last volley hitting our engine.” 

Baze unclipped the strap holding him to the pilot’s seat; a lucky strike from a TIE fighter knocked out their gravity before they jumped. “I’m going to check the damage. Stay here.” 

“And where do you think I would go?” Chirrut asked. 

Baze pushed off, ignoring the heavy swoop of his stomach. “I don’t know, but I have every confidence in your ability to find trouble no matter our circumstances.” 

Starlight caught on Chirrut’s smile. “No need for such sweet words. I’ve already married you.” 

“More fool you,” Baze said. 

It was hard work navigating the halls without gravity. Every missed handhold sent him bouncing off various walls, leaving his shoulder bruised by the time he managed to grab hold of the hatch leading to the engine. 

_The Enlightenment_ began life as a long haul cargo ship only to be converted into troop transport during the Clone Wars. Afterwards she was retrofitted into a smuggling freighter, her interior ripped out and replaced with deliberate twisting coils of false walls and hidden nooks. Chirrut had been right at home in the maze, but it took Baze months to become familiar with her layout to feel anything resembling affection. 

The engine room was filled with smoke, but there was no fire, a mercy Baze didn’t expect anymore. Unfortunately that was as far as mercy went, because it was obvious even to his untrained eye that there was nothing to be done. It may have been the last shot that did _The Enlightenment_ in, but the ones before it had taken their pound of flesh. They were dead in the water, air recyclers gone and the cold creeping in. 

Baze headed back to Chirrut, pausing to gather a few blankets and unearth their ancient air scrubbers. Neither would do them much good, only forestall the inevitable for an hour or two at most, but extra time was precious, and even now he still nourished that last bit of damned hope. 

He pulled himself back into the cockpit where he found Chirrut unstrapped from his seat, hand clenched around the edge of the console and the corners of his mouth pinched tight. Baze’s discomfort in zero gravity was a mere pittance compared to Chirrut’s. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, pushing off the wall. He used too much force, sailing past Chirrut only to bump into the navigation panel. 

“Activating our distress beacon.” Chirrut turned the beacon over in his hands. It was small but powerful with its own power supply for situations like the one they currently found themselves in. 

“The only ones around to hear are the damned TIEs.” 

They used old Separatist hyperspace lanes and kept to the edges of empty space when they could, and that was before they jumped blind. The only ships likely to stumble across them now were slavers, which was only moderately preferable to the Empire. 

“Now that does raise an interesting question.” Chirrut fumbled along the console until he found a strap to secure the beacon to. 

“What does?” Baze grabbed hold of Chirrut’s arm to tow him close. “Here, put this on.” 

Chirrut fitted the air scrubber to his face, batting away Baze’s hands when he tried to adjust the straps. “Would you rather die here, lost in space, or in an Imperial cell?” 

“Here,” Baze answered. He shook out a blanket, wrapping it around Chirrut’s narrow shoulders before doing the same to himself. Chirrut had always tended towards leanness but that had given way to sharp angles and hollowed cheeks in the years since the temple fell. 

“Really? You hate space.” 

He pulled Chirrut in close, hooking his foot in a chair strap to keep them anchored. “I don’t hate it.” 

Chirrut’s pointed chin dug into his shoulder. “You do. You spent the first month aboard staring longingly at every moon we passed.” 

“Like you would know what a longing stare even is.” 

“I have it on good authority it’s how you look at me.” He reached up to pat Baze’s face, only to frown. “Where’s your air scrubber?” 

“Right here.” Careful not to lose his grip on Chirrut, he slid it on. 

“You hate it,” Chirrut continued. “So why would you prefer to die up here?” 

Baze cinched the blankets tight around them, trying to hold in their meager body heat. They used to run hot on Jedha, even in the midst of winter. There were nights they would kick off the blankets from their bed, warmed by nothing more than their naked skin pressed together. 

Chirrut poked him in the side. “Tell me.” 

Baze scowled. “You’re spoiled.” 

“And whose fault is that?” Chirrut tipped his head back. “Baze, why here?” 

“Because do you really think the Imperials would keep us in the same cell?” 

“Oh,” Chirrut said, gentle fingers tracing up the line of his jaw to his ear. “You really are a romantic.” 

Baze caught Chirrut’s hand with his own, tucking both between them. “And where would you rather die?” 

“The Imperial cell,” Chirrut answered immediately. “It must be warmer than this.” 

Baze laughed, pressing his forehead to Chirrut’s temple. “I regret marrying you.” 

“But you did. It’s too late to back out now.” 

“I suppose it is,” he said, and held Chirrut tight to him. 

Baze was always surprised how quiet it was in space. He spent the majority of his life in the Holy City where silence rarely fell. Even on the coldest nights in winter there was always light and laughter somewhere. He used to sneak out of the temple to attend the markets with their great fires and the smell of smoked khasa lingering in the air. Chirrut would complain how his hair reeked of it for days, although apparently not enough to dissuade him to keep his hands out of it. 

“Baze,” Chirrut said, shifting against him. 

“Hm?” He tried to tuck his face into the curve of Chirrut’s neck only to be thwarted by the air scrubber. Chirrut jabbed him the side. “What?” __

“We have to keep awake.” Chirrut jabbed him again because at heart he was a spoiled little shit, and perhaps he was correct that the majority of the blame could be laid at Baze’s feet. “Do you remember our wedding?” 

They were drifting towards the ceiling, and Baze made sure the strap was still securely wrapped around his foot. “I remember how cold it was because you refused to wait for the thaw.” 

“You must already be suffering the effects of hyperthermia because it wasn’t me who was too impatient to wait.” 

“Don’t talk nonsense.” He tried to pinch the meat over Chirrut’s ribs. “You’ve never had patience.” 

Chirrut made an offended noise. “I waited years for you. A few more months were nothing.” 

“I remember your robes,” Baze said, too tired to retread the old argument. “They were red and bled when they caught the light.” 

“You always said you liked me in red,” said Chirrut. 

“I did,” he agreed. “I do.” 

They had married under the great ginkgo tree in the center of the temple, swaddled in heavy robes, and even through the thick gloves he was sure Chirrut had felt the tremble in his fingers. Their breath had hung in the air between them, and Chirrut’s lips had been cracked and dry when they kissed, his hands closed about Baze’s ears to keep them warm. 

“You braided your hair,” Chirrut murmured, one hand snaking out from under the blankets to catch a stray strand where it drifted in a halo over Baze’s head. “It was so complicated and intricate, it must have taken hours. Certainly took me that long to undo that night.” He smiled, wistful. “So much effort for something I’d never see.” 

After the ceremony and the celebration, they retreated back to their rooms where they undressed each other. It was far from the first time they had done so, as they had been young and hungry for touch, but that time felt different, as if it was somehow significant. His hands still shook when he’d unwound Chirrut’s sash and unknotted the ties of Chirrut’s robes, carefully pushing them from Chirrut’s shoulders. 

Chirrut, his hands following the lines and coils of Baze’s braids, had said, “All this for me?” 

“Not just for you. I do have to visit with my other husband tonight.” He had laughed as Chirrut shoved him onto the bed.” 

“Keep that up and you won’t have this one,” Chirrut said tartly, although he was gentle as he started on the first braid, unwinding them all until Baze’s hair pooled through his hands. 

It’d grown colder as they drifted, and Baze’s fingers were numb as he tried to pull the blankets tighter around them. The air thinned, and despite the scrubbers best efforts his breathing had gone shallow and labored. It wouldn’t be much longer. 

“I always thought,” Chirrut said slowly, as if each word was a struggle, “we would die on Jedha, and be laid to rest on her.” 

“You could have,” Baze said just as slow, “if you’d just listened to sense for once in your damned life.” 

“And let you die alone? You would rather I never know what happened to you? To have to live wondering which was kinder, you dead or if you finally decided to leave me behind?” 

It was not the lack of oxygen that left him gasping. “You think I wouldn’t come back to you?” 

Chirrut’s chin jutted out. “You left. You belong on Jedha, but you still left.” 

“ _You_ belong there,” Baze snapped, because Chirrut knew the Holy City through the soles of his feet, walking the streets as if he could hear her heartbeat. After the temple, when he and Chirrut had buried the bodies they could not burn, Chirrut had taken to those same streets, staff held in his hands like a reckoning, and Baze wondered how long until he would be forced to do the same for his husband. “I thought I would mourn you there when you got yourself killed.” 

“Well, it seems we’re both wrong.” 

Chirrut’s face was tilted away from him, and Baze thought of their wedding day when they had been so certain of what their future held. “So we are,” he said. 

And then proud Chirrut bent back towards him, his brow pressed to Baze’s, heedless of the way their air scrubbers were knocked askew. “I don’t want these to be our last words.” 

“They might not be our last,” he said, a poor comfort. “Some passing ship might pick up the beacon.” 

“This is why I love you,” Chirrut said, each word painfully gasped out. “You have so much faith.” 

What faith Baze once carried had been burnt and carved away, and not even his love for Chirrut could fill the cavern left behind. 

But, as Chirrut said, he did not want an argument as his last words, and so he clumsy pulled away first his air scrubber and then Chirrut’s, kissing him even as the air leaked out and the cold crept in. 

“See?” Chirrut said when they parted, as if he could hear the words Baze had swallowed. “Faith.” 

“Save your oxygen,” Baze said, and placed the air scrubber over Chirrut’s smile. 

* * *

They drifted. Chirrut’s fingers grew lax in his grip. Baze could not keep his eyes open, and so he stopped trying. 

_The Enlightenment_ shuddered as metal groaned from far away. 

Breathing was painful and difficult, and so, by shuddering degrees, he let it slip away. 

Chirrut, who had always been a restless sleeper and who managed to kick Baze in his kidneys several times a night, was still in his arms. 

Well, that was it, wasn’t it? He could finally give in now, and Chirrut could not blame him for it. 

“Fuck me,” someone said, but they too were far away. “Looks like the boss was right. Let Az know we got live ones incoming.” 

Chirrut was pulled from him. Baze lashed out. They had taken everything from, but not Chirrut. Force, please, not Chirrut. He couldn’t bear it. 

He kicked backwards. 

_“Motherfucker,”_ the man swore. 

“Really, Wooley?” someone else said. “He’s half-dead.” 

“He’s got a kick like a bantha. Here, give me that.” 

There was a prick to the back of his neck, and Baze went nerveless. Chirrut slipped away, and Baze, as he had done for the majority of his life, followed. 

* * *

The riots had gone on for eight days and seven nights, and on the eighth night Chirrut came to him and said, “You have forgotten your vows.” 

Baze did not look up from his work on the heater. He had repaired only two of the three blown fuses. It grew cold at night and there was only so much salvaged blankets and tapestries could do. 

“I’ve forgotten nothing,” he answered, wincing when a live wire caught his palm. His tools had been lost with the temple, and he managed as best he could with what the families in the building had donated. 

Chirrut’s hands twisted around his staff. “Then why are you here?” 

He pried out a cracked connector. He had a spare, but unless restrictions were lifted soon he would have no parts left for repairs. 

“Someone has to be,” he said. 

Chirrut made a frustrated noise. Baze kept working. 

“You would abandon them,” Chirrut said. “Right now when then they need us the most you would—” 

“I would what?” This was delicate work, and so Baze swallowed the bitterness piling on his tongue. “Charge out one last time? Join the abbot and the masters and the rest of the dead in the Force?” 

“Help them _,”_ Chirrut said. 

Connector in place, Baze flipped the power switch. The heater sputtered and rattled. He hit the heel of his hand against the panel, and it hummed to life. 

He packed away his tools. “Dying helps no one.” 

Chirrut dropped his staff and caught him with clumsy hands still blistered from the graves they dug, fingers stiff and painful as they pressed into his cheeks. “We are not dead,” Chirrut said, fierce. “Honor your vows, Baze Malbus. _Honor me.”_

He gently folded Chirrut’s hands in his own. Fire had taken the eastern district. The thaw was months away, and so there had been no water to spare, not that it would have mattered. Stormtroopers stationed at the gate had beaten anyone trying to break through to help. There was dried blood under his nails and bruises along his back in the shape of boots. He had borne witness as the streets burned and the taste of blood and ash filled his mouth. 

Baze was not like Chirrut. His body endured but it did not rejoice, and at the end of all things he could not even do that anymore. 

“I can’t,” Baze said. 

Chirrut’s prideful mouth trembled. “Please.” 

“I can’t,” he repeated, the words tucked into the last of his kindness. “Chirrut, please, don’t ask again.” 

Chirrut slid his hands free and pressed his knuckles to Baze’s jaw, as if in benediction. He stepped back and retrieved his staff and, chin up and mouth firm, went out onto the streets. 

* * *

Baze surfaced, thrashing. The streets were burning and Chirrut was gone. Baze should never have let him go. He made a vow. He promised. _He_ _promised._

“Damnit, Az, you said he was going to stay out!” 

“Incorrect. I said there was a low likelihood he would regain consciousness without the benefit of immersion in the bacta tank.” 

“Oh for—give me that.” 

There was a sharp pain at the crook of his arm, and Baze sunk low. 

* * *

Baze drifted along to the distant sounds of Chirrut throwing a fit. He was terribly spoiled, and if Baze shouldered the blame than so did the abbot, who indulged Chirrut far more than xe should. All the masters did. Baze did not fault them, for he too had been taken in by Chirrut’s quick words and deceptively sweet mouth. 

“I want my husband,” Chirrut said. “You will give him to me.” 

“He’s right—what are you doing? No, don’t— _fuck._ Az, get over here and help!” 

A heavy weight settled against Baze’s side, and he slept, safely moored. 

* * *

Baze woke, as was his habit from years of living with Chirrut, to Chirrut’s knee in his thigh and Chirrut’s arm across his face. No, not on his face; on the mask currently covering his mouth and nose. 

He lay still, assessing. There was a thin mattress under his back and the constant hum of a hyperspace engine. There was a vibroblade strapped to his ankle and Chirrut pressed to his side and movement to his left. He and Chirrut weren’t dead, yet. 

Slowly, so as not to alert anyone watching, Baze shifted Chirrut to better free his hands. Chirrut, who adamantly maintained he did not snore, snorted loudly but did not protest the movement. Baze carefully drew his leg up, inching his hand down to his ankle, searching for the hilt of the— 

“If you’re looking for your vibroblade,” a man said, “I’m afraid we had to take it. Along with your repeater cannon, what I’m assuming was your backup blaster, the knife you hid under your shirt, your other blaster, and the nasty stunner on your wrist.” 

Chirrut sighed and murmured so softly only Baze heard it, “They missed the wires in your hair.” 

“You can stop pretending to be unconscious now,” the man continued. “Az’s been monitoring you for the past—how long has it been?” 

“Thirteen hours,” Az said cheerfully, and Baze opened his eyes to find a med droid hovering so close he was nearly touching Baze’s nose. Baze jerked back, hampered by Chirrut, who had curled up against his back. 

Az was an older model by the look of him, outfitted with a compact body and lacking any humanoid legs, which did little to hinder his mobility. He moved quick and relatively quietly, circling to the bed’s diagnostics station before returning to Baze. Someone had once painted two blue stripes on his head. 

“We’ve talked about this, Az,” the man said. 

“Oh, yes, personal space,” said Az even as he shined a light directly into Baze’s eyes. “Please hold still while I check for any permanent brain damage from the lack of oxygen.” 

That included more lights shone in his face and Az poking and prodding various body parts and humming quietly to himself. 

“Congratulations,” Az said brightly when he was done, “you have not suffered any permanent damage from hypothermia and oxygen deprivation!” 

With Az’s examination complete, Baze pushed himself upright, turning to find the man lounging on the empty bed, data pad in one hand and feet crossed. He was older, his hair and frankly ridiculous mustache gone a steel gray, although Baze hesitated to guess at his age. Whatever it may be, it certainly hadn’t diminished the high, sharp cut of his cheeks or the line of his jaw. His eyes too remained clear and steady as he took in the recognition that crossed Baze’s face; a small scar sat on the man’s temple. 

“You’re a clone,” Baze said, hands twitching with the need for a weapon. 

“Don’t be rude,” Chirrut said. He had rolled onto his back, hands laced serenely over his chest. “This is Boil. He and his crew saved us.” 

“You didn’t make it easy,” Boil said. “You nearly took out Wooley’s knee with that kick.” 

“He’s sorry for that,” said Chirrut. 

“No, I’m not,” Baze said, glaring at him. “Why aren’t you in that bed?” 

“I have slept next to you every night even before we were married. I’m not about to let that habit lapse.” 

Boil snorted. “He panicked when he couldn’t find you and physically threatened Az until we let him bunk with you.” 

“Spoiled,” Baze said, and Chirrut smiled at the words. “Where are we?” 

“You’re on board _The Domino_ ,” Boil answered. “Echo picked up your signal. You’re lucky he was listening in. There was no one else around.” To Az he said, “They well enough to see the boss?” 

“I would prefer them to remain on oxygen supplements longer,” Az answered, fussing with the tubes leading from Chirrut’s mask to the med bed. 

“Let me rephrase,” Boil said. “Are they gonna drop dead if they go see the boss?” 

Az sighed, an oddly human gesture. “One hour, but return them here immediately. They are still recovering.” 

“Deal.” Boil swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Get your shoes and follow me.” 

Baze scowled and considered arguing, but Chirrut placed a hand on his arm. “We’re among friends here.” 

Baze stared at the scar on Boil’s temple, and said, “That remains to be seen.” 

* * *

When the Empire rose, clones marched through the temple’s halls, searching for any Jedi who had escaped the purge. A young padawan learner, smuggled in on an old freighter much like _The Enlightenment,_ had come to the temple seeking asylum. 

The abbot had taken her to the kyber baths and sat with her as she stared into the water, eyes empty. They clothed her and fed her, and in the morning the abbot led her down to the mines. 

The clones arrived that evening, their boots ringing sharp over the temple’s old stones. Baze watched them march past, holding tightly to Chirrut, who stood still and silent. 

The padawan had been secreted away hours before, and she would be the last Jedi Baze would see for a great many years. 

* * *

_The Domino_ was crewed almost exclusively by old clones, each of them gone gray haired with the same scar at the temple. Their small progression drew some attention, which was promptly dispelled by Boil’s glare. 

Chirrut tucked his hand into the crook of Baze’s elbow, obviously relying on Baze to lead him through the corridors; Boil had refused to return his staff. 

“I’m blind,” Chirrut had said in the same tone he once used as a young initiate when a master asked who had defaced the top of the southern tower with lewd graffiti. “I need it to help find a way.” 

Boil, as the abbot had once been, was unmoved. “You have an echo box and a husband. You’ll manage.” 

Chirrut had managed but not without an inconsiderable amount of sulking, which was mostly for show. 

“How many?” Chirrut asked quietly as they passed by another clone who flicked an assessing gaze over them. 

“More than you can handle,” Baze answered. _The Domino_ was a lancer class frigate and needed a sizable crew to keep her flying. 

Chirrut sniffed, offended. “Do you have so little faith in me and my abilities?” 

“I have the correct amount of faith in you and your abilities. You seem to have forgotten the multiple times I’ve witnessed you knocking yourself in the head with your staff.” 

“Was it as many times as I witnessed you tripping over your own feet?” 

“You’re blind, remember? You can’t witness anything.” 

Chirrut tipped his chin up, and said, serene, “That’s not what your mother said.” 

Before Baze could retort, or Boil could do more than grumble, a woman laughed and said, “I’m glad you didn’t die.” 

A young Twi’lek leaned out of an open doorway. Behind her Boil could make out bits of machinery that looked suspiciously like it came from _The Enlightenment’s_ hyperdrive. 

Boil gave her a pointed look. “You’re supposed to be running diagnostics on their engine.” 

“I finished,” she said. “It’s completely fucked. Your girl took quite the beating.” The last part was directed at them. 

“She did,” Chirrut agreed. 

“Those blast marks are from Imperial TIE fighters. It was a squadron after you, judging by the damage.” Her head tipped to the side. “What did you do to make the fuckers send a squad after you?” 

“Numa,” Boil said in warning. 

Numa turned wide eyes on him. “What? I’m just being polite.” 

“Uh-huh. Go be polite somewhere else.” 

“So I’m not allowed to talk to our guests now?” 

Boil’s frowned deepened. “They’re not guests, and no, you’re not.” 

“You used to be fun,” she said. 

“Don’t lie. I was never fun.” 

“Now who’s lying? You were very fun once.” She added as she turned away, “And tell the boss we might get some decent salvage out of this.” 

“Do you mean our girl?” Chirrut said. 

“Yes,” Numa said. 

“Don’t touch her.” 

“I don’t take orders from you,” she called over her shoulder before keying the door shut behind her. 

Chirrut turned towards Boil, who said, “She doesn’t take orders from anyone.” 

“Not even you?” Chirrut asked. 

Boil snorted. “She only pretends to listen to me when she wants something. Now move it. The boss still has to figure out what to do with you.” 

And with that he started off again with a pace quick enough that Baze was forced to lengthen his stride to keep up, towing Chirrut along. 

“You still think we’re with friends?” Baze said quietly. 

Chirrut curled his fingers tight around Baze’s arm. “I do. There was a time when I wouldn’t have to ask you to trust me, but as that’s in the past, trust me now when I say we are where we’re meant to be.” 

Baze nearly missed a step. “What do you mean you have to ask me? Of course I trust you.” 

“Don’t lie,” Chirrut said, an odd placidity to the words, as if he had become one of the kyber baths and was made of still waters. “You’ve become many things through necessity, but a liar is not one of them.” 

“You’re my husband,” Baze said. “I’ve always trusted you, and I always will.” 

“Then why did you mean to leave Jedha without me?” Chirrut said. 

Before Baze could respond, Boil said, “Save the marital squabbling for Az. He’s added a psychological analysis subroutine to his programming and is looking for a chance to show off. Through here. Watch your step.” 

They stepped onto _The Domino’s_ command center. It was, like the rest of the ship, larger than _The Enlightenment’s_ cockpit, which had been equipped with the bare essentials for travel. This was the main hub of a military vessel that expected to encounter trouble. 

“Boss,” Boil said. 

A clone at the communications panel raised one hand in acknowledgement. He leaned over another clone, or what Baze thought was a clone, or had been once. Numerous wires coiled from the panel and up into the man’s wrist and skull where they connected to data ports sewn into his skin. The clone’s head cocked to the side, as if he were trying to listen to a conversation happening three rooms over. 

“Cody,” Boil said, tone sharp. 

“I know you’re there, Boil,” the first clone—Cody—said. “We in the clear?” 

The question was directed to the other clone, who nodded slowly as he plucked a single wire from his left wrist only to insert it into a port behind his right ear. “All channels are quiet. No current chatter about our guests.” 

“Shout if that changes,” Cody said, knocking friendly knuckles to the clone’s shoulder. “You two, this way.” 

Cody’s hair was thinning at the back and as gray as Boil’s. Unlike Boil, deep lines were etched around his eyes and mouth. He carried two scars, the small one at his temple and then a jagged one that curved around his left eye. It looked old and deep, as if someone had taken a knife to the skin. 

They followed him to a small room connected to the rest of the center by a door that Cody had to manually shoulder open. It was a small space that functioned as an office, dominated by a desk and a few chairs. Nearly every free bit of space was piled high with various data pads and crystals and what seemed to be at least three blasters in various pieces. The floor was hardly better, and Baze steered Chirrut around the bits of machinery with a hand at the small of his back. 

“You don’t have to stay,” Cody said to Boil, who had taken up position in a chair in the corner, feet propped up on the one clear bit of desk. 

Boil pulled out his data pad and industrially tapped away. “I know.” 

“I could make it an order,” Cody said. 

“You could,” Boil agreed. “But I thought you weren’t a general of anything. Can’t order me to do shit if you’re not a general.” 

“It’s not like you would listen to me if I was,” Cody said fondly; it must have been an old argument. “Now who are you?” 

“Us?” said Chirrut. “We’re nothing special, just a long haul freighter trying to scrape out a living.” 

Cody’s expression didn’t change. Baze keenly felt the absence of his weapons. 

“And the smuggling compartments?” Cody asked. 

Chirrut smiled. “I never said it was an honest living.” 

“It’s hard to make a living these days, honest or otherwise, but I have to wonder why a heavily armed freighter pilot and his blind husband would have—” 

“I’m blind?” Chirrut interrupted, turning wide eyes on Baze. “But you just said we lived on a world with no sunlight.” 

“God,” Boil muttered. 

“I wanted to tell you,” Baze said, “but there was never a good time.” 

“All this time.” Chirrut blinked rapidly. “You knew all this time and you never told me.” 

“Cute,” Cody said, and Baze was surprised to find only amusement in his voice instead of annoyance. “That’s a cute act you got. He slanted a look at Boil. “Remind you of anyone?” 

“We were not like that,” Boil said. 

“No,” Cody agreed. “You two were worse.” 

Boil scowled. “If you were the general I couldn’t tell you to go fuck yourself, but since you’re not, go fuck yourself, boss.” 

“This is why I turned the job down. I’d miss your sweet talk.” Cody turned his attention back to them, and said, “Now as I was saying, why would a long haul freighter crew need a kyber crystal?” 

Chirrut’s clenched his fists. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.” 

Cody held out his hand, and there, nestled in the heart line of his palm, lay the shard Chirrut kept close. 

Baze wrapped a hand around Chirrut’s wrist. Not to restrain him, never that, but just to hold. 

“Baze,” Chirrut said, “is it mine?” 

“Yes,” Baze said.” 

Chirrut nodded, although he did not relax his fists. “You took it from my staff.” 

“We found it when we searched you both,” Cody said. “We can’t afford to take any chances these days.” 

Baze glanced to Boil, who still had his feet kicked up on the desk and his gaze fixed to his pad. “Don’t look at me. Oddball found it. He’s like a damned corvid. He hones in on anything shiny.” 

“It’s not yours to take,” Baze said, and Chirrut relaxed. “Return it to us.” 

Cody carefully held the shard between two fingers, turning it so it caught the light. “Who are you really?” 

Chirrut’s head cocked to the side. He always could hear the way the kyber sang. It had been a great honor when the abbot had allowed him to mine the shard. Baze had been so swollen with pride that Chirrut said he was in danger of ripping the seams of his robes. 

“Go on,” Chirrut said. “Tell him.” 

Baze barely kept from rolling his eyes. “You tell him if you want to be dramatic about it.” 

“But you have the voice for it.” 

“Just a reminder,” Boil said, “but I wanted to leave them for dead.” 

Cody raised a single eyebrow, so reminiscent of the abbot of when xe tired of Chirrut’s antics, that Baze felt compelled to say, “We’re of Jedha and the Whills.” 

Cody turned the eyebrow on Boil. 

“That doesn’t mean you’re right,” Boil said. 

“You know,” Cody said as the kyber shard painted his scar in warm light, “I think it does.” 

* * *

Jedha was old, even compared to stars and dust, old as the Force, or so the masters said. Baze believed that, for he felt that age seeping up from the earth and into the soles of his feet. He liked to press his heels down into the ground, despite the cold stones, for he was part of Jedha’s history now as was everyone who came before him. 

Jedha, after all, was home to more religious sects and orders than just that of the Temple of the Whills, and every year scores of pilgrims traveled great distances to pray upon her red earth. Some pilgrims would come to the temple and rest under the great ginkgo tree, which had stood for more generations than Baze cared to count. 

At the first frost, the tree shed its yellow leaves, blanketing the entire courtyard in a thick carpet. It was the responsibility of initiates to keep the paths clear, and the task fell to those the masters deemed needed greater reflection on patience and duty. Which meant that between the ages of twelve and sixteen every day found Chirrut out there sweeping the stones. 

It also meant that Baze inevitably found a spare broom and joined him. 

“You don’t have to,” Chirrut had said once. “You’re not the one in trouble.” 

“I find it soothing,” Baze had answered, relieved Chirrut couldn’t see how his ears turned red. 

“Of course you do.” Chirrut swept harder than was necessary. “I’m going to get married under this tree.” 

Baze nearly dropped his broom, fumbling desperately with numb fingers. “What?” 

“Those who choose to marry do so here,” Chirrut explained as if he was not speaking nonsense. “So I will do the same.” 

Baze swallowed. “Oh. Right. Married.” 

Chirrut paused in his work to lean against his broom, cheek pressed to his knuckles. “You’ll be there, of course. You’ll see.” 

Baze nodded mutely. He caught himself, said, “I’ll be there.” 

Chirrut beamed, and Baze could see nearly all of his gums. “Me and you,” Chirrut repeated. “You’ll see.” 

And Baze had seen, of course, because Chirrut was right more often than he was wrong. 

Years later, as they watched the clone troopers leave in the same manner as they arrived, in neat lines as their boots fell in perfect rhythm, Chirrut said, “It’s wrong.” 

“What is?” Baze had asked. The clones were gone but the temple felt different, as if Baze no longer slotted comfortably amongst her stones. 

“They are,” Chirrut said, and he had been right, although it would be even longer before they knew how wronged the clones had been. “Everything’s wrong now.” 

Baze took Chirrut’s hand in his. Chirrut’s palm was dry from the cold air. “No,” he said, because he was wrong more often than he was right, “not everything. 

* * *

“What are you?” Chirrut asked. The shard was back in his possession, and he rolled it between thumb and middle finger. 

“Didn’t your husband tell you?” Cody said. 

“I don’t mean you being clones.” The shard rolled back and forth. “I meant if you’re not a general of anything then what are you?” 

“Ignore him,” Baze said because while Cody didn’t appear offended, they were still dependent on his good will. “I do.” 

“Now that is a good question,” Boil said. “What are you, boss?” 

Cody ignored him. “Those blast marks on your ship—” 

“ _The Enlightenment,”_ Chirrut said. “That’s her name.” 

“Those marks on _The Enlightenment,_ they came from TIE fighters. What did you do to piss them off?” 

Chirrut’s head tilted to the side as the shard rolled to a stop, and Baze could read the decision in the set of his mouth. “We did smuggling for the Rebellion. Well, a cell of it. Mostly running food and medicine, but we assisted in a defection or two.” 

“Three,” Baze said because he was as much an asshole as Chirrut. It was why their marriage worked, for the most part. “And the last one was a high rank officer with intelligence they could use.” 

Boil whistled, although Baze couldn’t tell if he meant it in mockery or if he was genuinely impressed. Boil didn’t seem like the type to be impressed easily. 

“And they didn’t send anyone to watch your backs?” Cody said, annoyed. 

“It’s almost like they don’t have an experienced commander who knows how to fight a war like this,” Boil said. 

“I’ve made my decision,” Cody said. “We’re not doing this again.” 

Boil’s expression slid from unimpressed to actively disappointed. “You’re not doing anything.” 

“I’m keeping us alive. Isn’t that enough?” 

“Hell, boss, you tell me.” 

Cody’s expression did not change, but Baze knew pain and loss and the weight they laid on a body, and Cody was a man who carried both. 

And so Baze offered what kindness he could, and said, “What are you going to do with us?” 

Cody’s gaze cut back to them, startled for a moment before his expression carefully shuttered closed. “Depends on the state of your _Enlightenment.”_

“Numa says the engine is done for,” Boil said, attention once more turned to his pad. “She’s working on what can be used for salvage.” 

“That’s up to them,” said Cody, who hadn’t missed Chirrut’s scowl at the mention of salvage. 

“And us?” Baze asked. 

“We can find your cell. Drop you off.” 

“Or?” Chirrut asked. 

Cody eyed them thoughtfully. “You tell me.” 

Chirrut’s fist closed around the shard. “We could go home.” 

“We can’t,” Baze said. “Not yet.” 

Chirrut turned his face away. “Don’t be stupid.” 

Baze reached for him, only for Chirrut to pull back. Baze let his hands drop. 

Boil heaved himself to his feet with a sigh. “Yeah, I’m gonna get Az for this. He can deal with your shit.” 

Cody was still watching them in a way that made Baze want to flinch away. Cody, like the abbot, saw too much. “When you figure it out,” he said, “let me know.” 

Chirrut stood, and said, “Of course. Thank you.” 

And then, without waiting for Baze, he followed Boil out of the room. 

When they were alone, Cody said, “If it’s any consolation you only have to deal with one. I got two of them.” They shared a commiserating look before Cody added, “You can go now.” 

Baze went. 

He and Chirrut followed Boil back the way they came, together but not touching. 

* * *

When Boil returned them to Az’s tender mercies, Az tutted and herded them back to bed. Chirrut, like the damned spoiled brat he was, bullied his way in beside Baze. Baze could feel him at his back, sulking. 

“I don’t understand you,” Chirrut said into the dark. 

“You do,” said Baze. 

“I did.” Chirrut’s knuckles pressed into his spine. “I don’t think I do anymore.” 

Baze closed his eyes. The air was dry and recycled. No matter the ship, the air never tasted right. 

“I had to leave,” he said, “at least for awhile.” 

Chirrut shifted until he could press his forehead to the space between Baze’s shoulder blades. “It’s our home. We’re meant to be there.” 

The air was stale and wrong, and Baze breathed it because he had no other choice. Eventually, they slept. 

* * *

There was a particular rhythm to space travel, which involved long intervals of nothing happening punctuated by a lot of things happening all at once. Baze could do without both, if he had a choice, but as he didn’t, he and Chirrut did their best to make a place onboard _The Domino._

When Az deemed them sufficiently recovered and released them from medical, Boil found them a place to bunk down. It was small and smelled faintly of ozone with a bed short enough that Baze’s legs hung over the edge, but it offered a modicum of privacy rarely afforded by close quarters. 

“If you’re going to fuck,” Boil said, “do it quietly unless you want your performance critiqued. Thin walls.” He banged his fist against the one the bed was shoved against, as if to prove a point, and received muffled shouted profanities for his effort. 

“That will not be a problem,” Chirrut said, prim as he so often wasn’t. 

Boil’s eyebrows rose and Baze avoided meeting his gaze. “I take it Az’s subroutine didn’t work.” When Chirrut opened his mouth to respond, Boil added, “That was rhetorical. I don’t care about whatever domestic you’re having.” 

It was not, contrary to Boil’s stated belief, a domestic. Chirrut was still speaking to him, but in the careful way that made it clear he was being the enlightened one in the relationship. They slept together in the small bed, and Baze still woke to Chirrut’s knee in his thigh and Chirrut’s arm over his face. In the morning they dressed together and joined the rest of the crew in the mess for whatever food was being served, and throughout it all Chirrut never turned towards him. It was enough to make Baze miss Chirrut’s theatrical sulking. 

They attempted to befriend the crew, although Chirrut was better at that than him. He’d always had an easy way with people, even when they were children. Whenever Baze had need of him, all he had to do was find the nearest knot of their peers, for Chirrut would always be at the center with his careless smile that showed too much gum and his quick hands that stole the smoked khasa and sweet buns out from under the masters’ noses. 

Baze, now as then, preferred to linger on the edges and watch Chirrut with a stomach twisted with envy and longing, wishing he knew how to bridge the distance between them. 

Chirrut grinned as he laid down a winning sabacc hand. 

“Are you cheating?” Sixer said, suspicious. 

“He’s blind,” said Oddball. “How would he cheat? He can’t even see his cards.” 

“I don’t need to see,” Chirrut said serenely. “The Force tells me what I need to know.” 

Six scowled. “That’s not how the Force works.” 

“I don’t know about that,” said Wooley, whose name apparently came from the curly cloud of hair that sprung from his head. “Kenobi cleaned up at sabacc.” 

“Kenobi never gambled,” said Ironside. 

“He did whenever the boss got him and Rex drunk enough,” Oddball said. “Remember the betrayed eyes Rex gave him when he realized Cody got him again? Worse than a damn loth cat.” 

Sixer dealt another hand, snapping out the cards like they personally offended him. “We playing or getting all maudlin?” 

“We can do both,” said Chirrut, plucking a card from the air. “But in this case we’re playing. Or we would be if you weren’t all so terrible at it.” 

“Fuck off,” Sixer said, and Chirrut’s smile went gummy. 

“You joining in?” Wooley asked, the question directed at Baze. He had taken Baze nearly kicking his knee out quite well given the circumstances. 

“He doesn’t join in,” Chirrut said. “He prefers his solitude these days.” 

“Huh, Boil wasn’t exaggerating about your domestic,” Six muttered, only to yelp when Oddball kicked him in the shin. 

“My foot slipped,” Oddball said innocently, “just like your mouth.” 

“I’ll show you my mouth,” Sixer retorted, which earned him whistles and an affectionate leer from Oddball. 

Baze retreated amidst their friendly bickering, unable to bear Chirrut’s accusing silence. 

If Chirrut had ingratiated himself among the clones through gambling and filthy jokes then Baze, who was as he had always been, needed to be of use. He had offered his assistance to Numa, who had looked him up and down, and said, “You any good at fixing shit?” 

“I’ve been told I’m good with my hands.” 

“Don’t let Boil hear you say that around me,” she said, smirking, “but if you’re serious about helping out, I’m not gonna say no.” 

He liked Numa, who was as cheerfully foul mouthed as the rest of the clones even if she hid it around Boil, and she didn’t bother masking her curiosity about him and Chirrut. She wasn’t offended when he rebuffed her questions, sometimes gentle and sometimes not, and would give him hours of peace at a time before pestering him once more, which was more than Chirrut ever managed. This was the longest time Chirrut had gone without needling him. 

“What do you know about heat exchangers?” Numa asked when he found her in the engine room _._

“A fair amount,” he said. 

The temple had several, and by the time winter gave way to the wet season, they would be over taxed and ailing. It took weeks to run diagnostics and repair them, longer if a late season storm prevented the traders from making their annual pilgrimage. Baze would spend so much time down in the temple’s depths coaxing the exchangers back to life that Chirrut liked to complain that Baze had several spouses and he clearly wasn’t the favorite. 

“What’s wrong with them?” he asked as she impatiently beckoned him to follow. 

“Nothing. I’m proving a point to Echo. He’s an asshole who thinks he knows more than me just because he can talk to the ship.” She paused to affectionately pat a wall. “But we know that’s not true, don’t we, sweetheart?” 

The heat exchangers were located below the sleeping quarters, and though they hummed healthily along, Baze obligingly took off panels to make sure everything was as it should be. 

There was a peace to be found in this type of work. The temple had been old, older than the Jedi it was said, and in the way of all aging beings required care to keep it running. There was always something breaking or on the brink of failure, and Baze had discovered he had the patience and the skill for repair and restoration. Sometimes when the longing for Chirrut had felt like it would devour him, Master Tzenn would set him to work first on the stasis emitters used for preserving the oldest scrolls and tomes, and then if that hadn’t cowed the want, would set Baze to stitching new spines for the damaged books. He would work through the night only to look up hours later to find Chirrut had smuggled him fresh bread from the kitchen. 

“Food is not allowed,” he’d say. 

“You’re welcome,” Chirrut would answer with a pointed roll of his eyes. “What does this one say?” 

And Baze would read the pages to him until the first bell called them to their duties. 

Now when Baze finished with the final heat exchanger, there was no Chirrut to greet him. And why should there be? Chirrut did not understand him anymore, even though Baze had cut himself open for Chirrut’s inspection so many times it felt like he was nothing but sutures. 

“Well, was I right?” Numa asked when he was done. 

“Number three will need a new connector soon,” Baze said, “but there are no malfunctions.” 

“Did you hear that?” Numa crowed. “I was right and you were wrong!” 

There was a soft sound, like a sigh, and Echo said, “But she is adamant she is losing heat. If not through the heat exchangers then where?” 

Baze had yet to grow accustomed to the way Echo’s voice seemed to seep from the walls instead of a comm. Echo was connected to the ship by those data ports sewn into his skin, and when he asked Boil if Echo knew everything that went on onboard _The Domino_ , Boil said, “It’s better if you don’t think about it.” 

“Send me the diagnostic,” Numa said. There was a pause, which stretched out slow and long. She sighed. “Did you run one?” 

“No,” Echo said, a hint of a sulk to the words. “I don’t need to. She told me.” 

Numa muttered a profanity that would have her sweeping the courtyard for a fortnight if the masters had caught her, and pulled a pad from the nearest panel. “We have an energy drain. Not sure where it’s located.” 

“Try the starboard cargo bay,” Echo said. “She says there’s a pain there.” 

“I got you, girl.” Numa patted the wall again. “We’ll get you right.” 

The starboard cargo bay was the one that held _The Enlightenment_ where she sat dark and silent. Baze rested a hand against her side in gratitude as he passed by. When Echo listened to her, what did he hear? 

“Fuck me,” Numa said, arms crossed over her chest. “It’s definitely colder in here.” She was in the far corner, staring up at the ventilation panel. “Give me a boost.” 

Baze obediently helped her clamber up onto his shoulders, hands carefully wrapped around her calves to steady her as she wrenched the panel off, muttering unkind sentiments under her breath. She fell silent, which was never a good sign. 

“How does it look?” Baze asked. 

“The regulator coils have degraded. We’ll have to seal this section off for now in case they blow and we lose atmo.” She planted a hand on his head and jumped down, heedless of his discomfort. 

“We can’t be that far from an inhabited system,” Baze said, although that was an assumption on his part. He had yet to see a star chart. Despite assisting the rebellion, Cody didn’t trust Chirrut or him with any real information about _The Domino._ “Perhaps we can find a replacement there.” 

Numa shook her head. “We’re in Hutt space. We don’t go planet side if we can help it.” 

There were other non-clones aboard beside Numa, most of them her age or younger, and they were the ones to make supply runs as the chances of their faces being recognized were significantly lower. They were, as Chirrut had learned, civilians the clones had met during the war and then found their way back to after, well; Chirrut had gestured to his temple. 

Baze looked to _The Enlightenment._ “You wanted to use her for salvage. Might as well start now.” 

“I thought your husband didn’t want us touching her,” Numa said, but the curling ends of her lekku made plain her worry over the coils. 

Chirrut had made his feelings about the crew taking what parts they needed from _The Enlightenment_ quite clear, but it was quickly becoming apparent that _The Domino_ was not a new vessel, and each day brought something malfunctioning in new and dangerous ways. 

“I’ll talk to him,” Baze said. 

Numa raised her eyebrows in the same judgmental manner as Boil, but unlike Boil she kept her peace on the matter. Instead she activated her comm and said, “You get all that, Echo?” 

Echo had, and as soon as they exited the cargo bay, he sealed it off. As Numa had an unending list of repairs and diagnostics to run, they spent the rest of the day traversing from one end of _The Domino_ to the other, pulling off panels and soldering wires and trading affectionate insults with anyone interrupting their work. 

By the time they retired to the mess for the evening meal, Baze’s hands were sore and cramped but his head was soft and quiet, as if he were back at the temple after a day of spent repairing the climate controls for the library. 

Chirrut was already there, comfortably ensconced among a group of clones, although next to him was an empty seat and a tray full of the tasteless protein that constituted the meals onboard. Chirrut, as if he had nothing to do with the tray or the seat, did not acknowledge Baze when he sat. Still it was more than Baze had gotten lately, and so he let his shoulder bump into Chirrut’s. 

“Heard we lost the cargo bay,” Sixer said, pushing his food around. 

“Not lost,” Echo said after a pause, as if he had to line the words up on his head. “We sealed it off as a precaution.” 

Az was hovering around him while he ate a few bites, chewing mechanically and without any sign of enjoyment. Not that there wasn’t much to like about the protein they all choked down, but Baze had the sense Echo didn’t enjoy much of anything anymore. He had asked Numa what happened to him, and she had shrugged and said the Techno Union took him during the war, and when the boys got him back he was like this. “He has trouble being a person,” she added. “We help him remember.” 

And Baze had nodded, for he knew how painful that could be. 

“Got a lot of precautions lately,” Sixer continued. 

“Then feel free to help out,” Numa said, kicking him in the shin. Sixer let her. The clones, Baze had noticed, rarely refused Numa anything. 

“You know I’m no good with that shit,” Sixer said. 

“It’s true,” Niner added. “He used to break his comm just by looking at it.” 

Sixer pointed his fork at him. “Hey, one of those times was from you sitting on it.” 

Baze ate and let the bickering wash over him. Someone had also set out a cup of tea prepared as he liked it, and he drained nearly all of it before saying, quietly, “They need new regulator coils. The ones they have are degrading faster than can be replaced.” 

He wondered for a moment if Chirrut would pretend not to have heard, if they would continue this careful balance of not quite ignoring one another. But Chirrut said, “You want to take them from _The Enlightenment.”_

“Yes,” said Baze. 

“You want to gut her.” 

Chirrut was stubborn and infuriating, and there were times Baze wondered how he had fallen in love with such a man as him. “No,” he said. “These parts are doing her no good, but they can help out our new friends.” 

Chirrut’s mouth thinned. “So they are friends now.” 

Baze was aware of the conversation dying down as the attention was turned towards them. Even Cody and Boil, who were seated at the far end of the table and had been ignoring them for the most part, looked over. 

“She’s dead,” Baze said. “We can’t bring her back.” 

“How convenient for you,” Chirrut said. “Does it help, telling yourself that?” 

Aware of the eyes on them, Baze said quietly, “Don’t.” 

Abruptly Chirrut smiled. “Numa, as my husband has so astutely observed, _The Enlightenment_ is doing us no good. Take what you need.” 

“Thank you,” Numa said, sharing an alarmed look with Boil, who shrugged. 

An awkward silence descended and would have lingered if Wooley hadn’t said, “Why did you name her that?” 

Baze pointed his fork at Chirrut. “His idea of a joke.” 

“Baze left Jedha to seek enlightenment,” Chirrut said, ignoring him. “But with the ship—” 

“Everywhere he goes he’s enlightened,” Cody said. “Funny.” 

“I always thought so,” said Chirrut. “Why _The Domino?”_

Echo looked up, blinking as if focusing on Chirrut for the first time. “That was my squad. Domino. They’re dead now. I’m the only one left.” 

If Baze still had his faith, he would say a prayer for the dead, but as he didn’t, he reached out to press his knuckles to Echo’s arm, to let him know he wasn’t alone. Echo blinked again before nodding in thanks. 

“It’s a good name,” Chirrut said. 

“It is,” Echo agreed. 

Another silence stretched over them, only broken by Sixer, who said, “All right, enough of this heavy shit. Numa, give me the rotgut. I know you’ve been brewing it.” 

“I would never,” Numa said with large, innocent eyes. 

Boil snorted. “Not even Waxer would have believed that one.” 

“He would have,” Numa said. “He thought I could do no wrong.” 

“Yeah,” Boil said, an old wistfulness to the words, “he did.” 

Sixer sighed. “What did I just say?” 

“Let us have a moment,” Wooley said, and Baze was surprised to find that he was part of that moment, all of them connected by old grief tempered by time into something bittersweet. 

There was no one he wanted to share it with more than Chirrut. When he turned to Chirrut it was to find Chirrut already facing him, as if the realization had come to him at the same time. This time when Baze reached for him, Chirrut didn’t pull away. 

* * *

Once, in the days leading up to his marriage proposal, the abbot bid Baze walk with xir. They traveled through the temple only to end up under the gingko tree. Its branches were bare as winter had come and the ground had gone hard with frost. 

“It is said the first settlers planted this tree,” the abbot said, “to mark this as their home.” 

Baze nodded; it was one of the first things initiates were taught just before they were set to work clearing the courtyard. 

“It’s not true, of course,” xe continued. “It’s only a few centuries old, and we’ve been here much longer.” Xe looked to him. “How many times have you left the Holy City?” 

“Twice,” Baze answered. Once when he escorted a caravan of pilgrims returning to their home, and then when the fever came to the city and his mother sent him to his grandfather, who had lived across the great arctic desert. Baze had escaped the fever; Chirrut had not. 

“Do you want to leave it?” xe asked, curious. 

Baze hesitated. This felt like a test, but for what purpose he could not tell. None of the masters had expressed any concern about his and Chirrut’s relationship, and he did not understand why a marriage would change that. 

“No,” he answered honestly. “Why would I?” 

“Why indeed.” Xe seemed amused, or that is what Baze had thought at the time. With the advantage of years, Baze realized it had been regret. “Do you know why the schism with the Jedi happened?” 

If he were more like Chirrut, Baze would ask if they were admitting that once the Order of the Whills and the Jedi had been one and the same. But he was only himself, and so he said, “No, abbot.” 

“It is because we are not built to be alone.” Xe placed a hand in gratitude against the trunk. “There is no shame in attachments, Baze, and no shame in leaving, if you must. Just make sure you don’t leave everything. Do you understand?” 

Baze had been very young and because he was young, he had thought this was about Chirrut, and he said, “Yes, abbot.” 

And xe said, “Good. Now tell me, have you commissioned your wedding robes yet? Chirrut is very impatient, and you know how he can get.” 

Baze flushed, and said, “I’ll ask him soon.” 

“Good,” xe repeated, looking up at the bare branches that seemed to brush Jedha’s sky. “That’s very good, indeed.” 

* * *

They had been aboard a month when _The Domino_ took up position on the dark side of a moon in the Ord Ortag system, which sat along the outer edges of Hutt Space. It was one of the places where people came from but did not go to, at least not if they could avoid it. _The Domino_ could not, or at least that was Cody’s position, judging by the shouting he and Boil had been doing for the past three days. 

“You get used to it,” Numa said when the echoes reached them in the engine room, or what Numa referred to as her office. She had fashioned a desk out of a discarded bit of hyperdrive shielding, and they were currently inventorying what parts from _The Enlightenment_ were to be put to immediate use or to later be traded when they came to a hospitable bit of space. The coils had already been replaced, but there was quite a bit of her still to go through. 

“What are they arguing about?” Baze asked. 

Numa didn’t look up from her pad. “Cody is going to meet a contact to pick up some intel and Boil’s pissed because he’s going alone. Same shit they always fight about.” 

“Intel for what?” 

Numa snorted in the same way Boil did. “About the war he’s refusing to fight. Like I said, same shit. I know her hyperdrive’s fucked, but I think there’s some components we can fix.” 

That was the end of the conversation, and unlike Chirrut, Baze knew when not to push. Besides, the matter was settled the next day when Cody departed, accompanied only by Oddball, who was piloting the small jumper shuttle. 

“I thought you said Gardulla had a bounty on him,” Chirrut said that night in the mess. 

“She does,” Wooley answered. Boil’s seat was empty, as was Numa’s, the two of them tucked away where they could monitor incoming communications. “Boss doesn’t care much about that.” 

The shuttle returned two days later, and _The Domino_ immediately jumped into hyperspace so quickly the jolt of it sent Baze stumbling into the bacta tank he and Numa were repairing. It was rarely used as no one outside designated Empire facilities had access to bacta in any great quantities, but Az insisted it be ready in the event of an emergency. 

“Guess the boss is back,” Numa said. There was grease along her cheek. “Hey, Az, bet you latrine duty he got himself roughed up again.” 

“I do not take bets where the odds are heavily stacked in your favor,” Az said, which was proven true a few moments later when Boil half dragged Cody in and dumped him on the nearest bed. 

“Check his head,” Boil said to Az. “Asshole got concussed again.” 

“I’m not concussed,” Cody protested. That seemed unlikely given he was bleeding from a head wound. When he thought Boil had looked away, he spat out a mouthful of blood onto the floor. 

“What is wrong with you? Use the goddamn pan.” Boil shoved one under Cody’s face, who wearily made a rude gesture as he pushed it aside, wincing when Az shone a bright light in his eyes. 

“Head trauma is minimal,” Az reported. “But you have sustained bruising to your kidneys.” 

“They got a lucky shot,” Cody said. 

“They?” Boil repeated in a tone of voice that made Baze wish they were not between him and the door. “This is why I wanted you to have backup.” 

Cody shrugged, aborting the movement halfway through with a grimace. “It was fine. The kid was there.” 

“Oh, if the kid was there,” Boil said in a tone of voice that made Numa wince. 

“Hold still,” Az said, and stabbed a needle in the side of Cody’s neck. 

“Damnit, Az, give me some warning.” Cody waved Az away. “And stop looking at me like that.” 

Boil sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “We can’t keep doing this. You know that.” 

“What do you want me to do?” Cody said, just on the edge of snapping. “You want me to say yes to them and drag you all into another war? You want that for Numa?” 

Baze glanced at Numa, but she just started packing away their tools even as her lekku twisted and curled in on themselves. 

“You make it sound like we got no say in this,” Boil said. “If we go back to war it’s because it’s our choice. You think there’s any place you could go where we wouldn’t follow?” 

Cody thumbed blood away from his lip and refused to meet Boil’s eyes. 

“You require bacta,” Az said, bustling close in concern. 

“Save it for when we really need it,” Cody said. 

Boil rolled his eyes even as he grabbed Cody by the chin, roughly tilting his face into the light. “You’re a fucking mess. You lose any teeth?” 

Cody shook Boil off. “No.” 

“Not for lack of trying, I’m guessing,” Boil said dryly. “Look, we’re not that far from Tatooine. Take some time, go make sure they haven’t started a revolution or killed each other in their sleep yet. Hell, I’m begging you to go have some filthy but emotionally fulfilling sex and get your head on straight.” 

Cody didn’t laugh so much as his chest hitched, shoulders shaking as if in pain. “Waxer’s dead. That wasn’t your fault, but I’m not his replacement. You don’t get to make yourself feel better by trying to save me.” 

Boil’s face didn’t move, but into the stifling silence Numa made a small noise, hand pressed over her mouth. Boil and Cody jumped, becoming aware of them for the first time. 

“Numa,” Cody said, voice breaking halfway through her name, but Numa rushed from the room, tools scattering in her wake. Boil opened his mouth, but Cody said, “Don’t. I know. _Fuck.”_

They stared at each other long enough that Baze had just decided to quickly and quietly slip away after Numa when Cody bowed his head, hand pressed over his eyes. “I didn’t mean that,” he said. 

“You want to push me away, fine,” Boil said. “Hell, you can even use Waxer to do it. We both know it’s not me you’re angry at.” 

Cody raised his head. Blood was drying at the corners of his mouth and a bruise was mottling up his cheek towards the scar at his temple. He look tired in the way that had nothing to do with missed sleep, and Baze wondered when was the last Cody allowed himself to truly rest. 

“But here’s the thing,” Boil continued, “I was with you on Utapau and on Alderaan and even on Saleucami when we—well, we both know what happened there. If you want to blame yourself then you should blame me just as much because I followed every order you gave.” 

Cody shook his head. “It wasn’t—” 

Boil held up a hand, and Cody fell silent. “I followed you then and I’ll follow you wherever you decide to throw in your lot, but I’m not going to keep watching you do this. You have to deal with your shit, Cody, because I am not putting up with this any longer.” 

“You saying you’ll leave?” Cody asked, a quiet shake to the words. 

“I’m saying that the next time you pull something like this the kid’s not gonna be around to save you.” He once more took Cody by the chin, but his grip was noticeably gentle as he angled Cody toward the light. “Az, we have some bacta to spare. Patch him up.” 

Az did so with more enthusiasm that was warranted, and Cody winced under the onslaught. “I should find Numa,” he said. 

“Let me deal with my kid.” Boil was halfway to the door when he paused. “Oh, and for the record, sir, fuck you, too.” 

“Yeah,” Cody said to Boil’s retreating back, “fuck me, too.” 

When Boil had left, Baze finished gathering up the remaining tools. Once he had stowed everything neatly away, he tried to slip out, only to be stopped by Cody, who said, “What do you think?” 

Baze was half-tempted to imitate Chirrut and pretend he didn’t hear the question, but he was fundamentally, and unfortunately, an honest man, and so he said, “Do you know what happened to the Order of the Whills?” 

“I suspect the same thing that happened to the Jedi. The Empire had no use for you.” 

“Yes,” Baze said. “Chirrut and I are among the few survivors. Chirrut managed to bear it well, or at least better than me. I couldn’t stay there where my life had been—” He shook his head, unable to find the words. Cody understood. “I couldn’t stay, and so I left and Chirrut refused to let me go alone.” 

“But then you both almost died anyway,” Az said. Cody gave him a look, and he added, “Oh, was that rude? I’m sorry. I thought I was a part of this.” 

“Yes, we nearly died,” Baze agreed. “The irony is not lost on me.” 

“Is there a moral to this?” Cody said. “Some ancient wisdom you want to impart?” 

“If there was do you think I would waste it on you?” he said, which made Cody quirk an eyebrow, amused. “There’s no lesson to be learned. My sisters and brothers died just as yours did, but Chirrut and I lived, and there’s no reason for it. We were lucky and they were not. We can either find a way to make our peace with that or we can let it consume us, but we have to decide, one way or another.” 

“That’s it?” Cody said. “Live with it or don’t? I thought you monks were supposed to be enlightened.” 

“I don’t know if you noticed, but my _Enlightenment_ was shot down by Imperial TIE fighters. This is what’s left.” He considered Cody, who was older than him in a way that had nothing to do with the years. “But I do have this one bit of wisdom, if you want it.” 

“Why not?” Cody said. “Give it to me.” 

“Filthy but emotionally fulfilling sex does have its benefits.” 

When he left, Cody was still laughing. 

* * *

That night, as he and Chirrut undressed, or as Chirrut undressed and Baze gathered up his discarded clothes to fold and set neatly aside, he found himself admiring the bare curve of Chirrut’s shoulders. 

He used to stare at whatever of Chirrut’s skin he could see before they were ever properly together. When it had come time for him to confess, he had choked on the words, preferring the familiar yearning to the fear of rejection. It was Chirrut who had always been the braver of them, who had grabbed Baze and said, so sure of himself, “You love me.” 

“Yes,” Baze had answered. Chirrut, then as now, cut through all his soft parts to the truth of him. 

He missed those days of quiet certainty. 

“You’re so stubborn,” Baze said, skimming his fingers over Chirrut’s left shoulder. He lingered over a scar the size of his thumb. Chirrut’s skin was pockmarked from shrapnel, and Baze had spent an evening picking out bits of stone and metal, dropping each bit into a glass dish while Chirrut pretended not to feel any pain. 

Chirrut shrugged him off. “You would know.” He climbed into bed, impatiently holding up the blanket because he hated to sleep alone. 

Baze finished undressing and slid in beside him, smiling as Chirrut set about restlessly tugging the blanket where he wanted it, so much like the surly old temple felines the abbot doted on that Baze felt tenderness curl up in his throat. 

He pressed a kiss to the wing of Chirrut’s shoulder blade. “I’m glad you’re here with me.” 

Chirrut rolled onto his stomach. “Turn the light off.” 

Baze did, and into the dark, he said, “You do know me, better than anyone ever has. That’s why I need you to understand why I had to—” 

“I’m trying to sleep, Baze. Can this wait till morning?” 

Stung, Baze said, “Yes. I’m sorry.” 

Chirrut shifted away as much as the bed would allow, and Baze did not know how long they both lay there like that, together but separate, until sleep stole them both. 

* * *

Chirrut was waiting at the back of the mess hall when Baze joined him, handing over a cup of tea. “What do you think this is about?” he asked. 

Cody had called an assembly, and the crew had dutifully filed in, filling every table and seat until they were crowded up against the walls. Baze didn’t know if he and Chirrut were welcome, but they had come anyway, drawn by the conviction in Cody’s voice. 

“He’s made a decision,” Chirrut said. 

Baze had seen Cody talking with Boil and Numa, their bent heads forming a small circle that had, over the course of several hours, grown to include Wooley and Oddball and Echo, each of them listening intently to whatever argument Cody was making. Something important had been decided, and Baze was mildly surprised how much he wanted to bear witness to it. 

“He has,” Baze said, and could see it in the way Cody held himself, shoulders back and chin up. 

Chirrut took a sip of tea and made a face. “Did you put sugar in this? You always forget the sugar.” 

“I never forget the sugar. I just put in a reasonable amount.” 

“How is this reasonable? I can’t taste it.” 

Baze rolled his eyes. “It is reasonable. Just because you prefer tea you can chew.” 

“Don’t take that tone with me,” Chirrut said, jabbing him in the side. “You put _butter_ in yours. You have no—” 

Sixer pointedly cleared his throat, and with a slow flush of shame Baze realized that nearly everyone was staring at them. 

“You done?” Cody asked, amused instead of annoyed as if this was an argument he had witnessed hundreds of times before. 

“Our apologies,” Chirrut said. “I’m afraid my husband makes a terrible cup.” 

“I do not,” he protested. “You just prefer a terrible cup.” 

“It’s like having to listen to you three again,” Boil said to Cody. 

“Remember the lectures we got?” Oddball added. “Kenobi had strong opinions about tea.” 

“He did,” Cody said, fond. “About damn near everything.” 

“Your face is terrible,” Sixer said. 

“Still prettier than you,” Cody said, but the levity dropped away. “As many of you know I picked up a data crystal from a contact in Ord Ortag. It’s Imperial in origin.” 

The crystal, Cody explained, contained intel about a prison transport on its way to the Mid Rim. It was carrying several high profile members of the nascent Rebel Alliance and, it turned out, one sitting senator. 

“Riyo Chuchi,” Echo said, frowning. “I know her. How do I know her?” 

“Orto Plutonia,” Numa answered, hand tucked into the crook of Echo’s elbow. “She was there with you, remember?” 

Echo’s face cleared, and for a moment Baze caught a glimpse of the man Echo had once been. “Fives liked her.” 

“He did,” Boil said gently. 

“Are we going to help her?” 

That seemed to be the question. Everyone looked to Cody, waiting for him to choose. 

“Yes,” Cody said. “We are, if you’re willing.” 

Baze watched the change come over the clones’ faces, the way they rolled their shoulders back and how they tipped their chins up, and knew their answer. 

“There won’t be any hiding,” Cody said, “not if we do it right. We’ll be in this war, and we won’t have the option of backing out. But this is where I’m throwing in my lot.” 

“Hell, boss,” Boil said, nearly smiling, “I told you. I’m with you to the end.” 

“Me too,” Numa said. 

“As is _The Domino_ ,” said Echo, “and me.” 

And then it all came rushing forth, the crew pledging their support as Cody, Boil at his side, stood tall, his choice made. 

“And what about you?” Chirrut asked quietly. “What do you choose?” 

There was no shame in attachments or having to leave, the abbot said, and xe was right as xe so often was. Baze thought of Jedha, of how she was then and of how she was now, and said, “I want to see this through.” 

“Of course you do,” Chirrut said, so bitter it was startling. Baze reached for him only for Chirrut to jerk away. “You left Jedha but stay with them?” 

“We owe them a debt,” Baze said. 

Chirrut’s mouth twisted. “Since when do you honor your vows? You left our home to burn and you would leave me, but _this_ is where you place your loyalty?” 

“Leave you?” Baze repeated. “You think I would ever leave you? Chirrut, I love—” 

“You told me to stay,” Chirrut snapped, trembling. “You may forsake our home and your vows, but you will not forsake me, Baze Malbus. _I will not allow it.”_

“I don’t understand,” Baze said, lost and helpless. “You love Jedha, and that’s why I wanted you to stay, so you would not hate me for making you leave her.” 

“That was never your choice to make,” Chirrut spat, and then shoved the cup into Baze’s hands so roughly that the tea spilled over the rim and ran down his knuckles. 

Chirrut didn’t flee, because there was nothing Chirrut would run from, but he turned on his heel and stalked out, head held high and his staff tapping out an angry path before him. 

In his wake the silence thickened until Baze felt he would choke on it. Everyone stared at him. 

“I know it’s not my place,” Sixer said, “but you fucked that up, brother.” 

Numa kicked him, and over Sixer’s yelp, Baze said, “Yes, I fucked that up.” 

* * *

Baze, as Chirrut had noted on more than one occasion with a truly lewd waggle of his eyebrows, was good with his hands, and so he put them to use. _The Domino’s_ heat exchangers were functioning adequately, but they could be more efficient, and so he set to make them so. Machines were, on the large, easy to understand. He could take them apart and clean out what did not belong, examine their component pieces and fit them back together, better than they were before. 

Machines were uncomplicated and Chirrut was not. No one was, after all. They were all trying to make their way without breaking. 

“Numa said I’d find you here,” Cody said. “What are you doing?” 

“These could operate better,” Baze answered. “I’m making sure they do.” 

“Well, isn’t that a metaphor you want to punch in the face.” 

“It is,” Baze agreed, and fitted the panel back into place. There was nothing more he could do with this one, and so he moved on to the next. “Take a seat, if you’re staying.” 

Cody dragged a crate over and sat with a wince. “Never thought I’d live long enough to get this old.” 

“No one thinks they’ll ever grow old,” Baze said. “Not really.” 

“Is that a natural born thing?” Cody asked. “Because I was referring to the fact that Obi-Wan was going to get me killed if Rex or the clankers didn’t get to me first.” 

Baze carefully pulled out a tangle of wires. No wonder this exchanger’s output was far below its fellows. “Are they your Chirrut?” he asked. “You said you had two to my one.” 

“They are.” Cody’s face softened, and for a moment Baze could see the young man Cody had been, once. How cruel of the Force to create an entire people only meant to fight and die. “They’re on Tatooine.” 

“And you’re here.” He freed the grounding wire. 

“And I’m here.” 

Cody seemed to content to watch him work, and so Baze let him. Their silences were companionable, and Baze let it wash over him, the same as he did when he and the abbot would take tea together. Two extraordinary people in two different times; Baze was the one constant. 

When he finished with the exchanger, he settled back on his heels, and said, “Why?” 

“Why am I here if they’re not?” Cody asked, doing him the courtesy of not misunderstanding. 

“Yes.” 

“Obi-Wan has to stay, and he’s got a good reason for once. But he’s terrible at being alone, so Rex is with him.” 

“And you’re practiced at being on your own?” Baze asked. 

“I’m never alone,” Cody said. “I got my brothers.” 

“But not them.” 

“I didn’t have them for awhile. I got used to it. They never did.” As if he was not conscious of doing so, he touched the jagged scar that narrowly curved around his eye. “It was a grenade that did this. I was busy covering my men’s retreat, and I didn’t see it roll into the trench. Stupid mistake. I thought I lost an eye when it went off, and then almost did when infection set in. Couldn’t see shit for days until we were evaced. All I had were their voices. Ended up needing surgery to salvage everything, and the first thing I saw when I woke up was Obi-Wan and his tragic fucking face.” 

“They’re always tragic, aren’t they?” Baze said. 

Cody ground out a laugh. “They are. I gave in after that. Finally ran out of reasons to keep denying him. Rex needed more time, but he got there. When he sets his mind on something there’s no changing it.” 

“I know something of that,” Baze said, for not even the abbot had any luck dissuading Chirrut when he had decided on an action. Baze was the only who could, and half the time he had to bribe Chirrut with the promise of sexual favors. 

“I couldn’t be around them after…” Cody trailed off, gaze gone distant. “Rex has always been smarter than me. He figured this out before everyone.” He tapped the small scar on his temple. “When the chips took us, I was the one who gave the order to fire on Obi-Wan. He should have died then. I don’t know why he didn’t.” 

_They’re wrong,_ Chirrut had said when the clones came to the temple, and of course he was right, as he so often was. Baze was not the only one the Empire had taken everything from, but at least he kept his mind. 

“But he lived,” Baze said, gentle. 

“He shouldn’t have. I didn’t want him to, then. I wanted him—” Cody broke off, throat working for a long moment. “He’s alive, and so is Rex. But I can’t be there with them. I was never any good at that part.” He visibly dragged himself back to the present. “We’ll retrieve Chuchi, and then I’ll go see them, get my head straight, have some of that filthy and emotionally fulfilling sex I’ve heard so much about, but I won’t stay. I still have to find that rebel army and turn them into something that stands a chance.” 

“There are times we have to leave,” Baze said, finally understanding the abbot, “but that doesn’t mean we can never return or that we take nothing with us. We choose what we carry.” 

“There’s that wisdom I was promised,” Cody said, as if he had already come to that answer himself and was merely waiting for Baze to arrive on his own. He stood with a wince. “Go find that husband of yours. Echo said he’s making _The Domino_ sad.” 

Baze sighed; trust Chirrut to sulk so hard he was affecting the machinery. “I’ll get him to stop.” 

“I know you will, brother,” Cody said, and bumped affectionate knuckles into his shoulder. “He’s what you choose to carry.” 

“He’s always has been. More fool me.” 

“More fool us,” Cody agreed. 

When he was alone, Baze neatly packed the tools away in organized rows so Numa could easily find what she needed, and then he went to find Chirrut. 

* * *

This was what Baze had forgotten, after: Chirrut had never been devout. 

Chirrut believed, of that there was no doubt. But he was not like the abbot, who spent xir life in service to the Force and all its people, or like Master Tzenn, who spent her life in pursuit of knowledge. He was not even like Baze, whose devotion needed form and function. 

Chirrut was a guardian who heard the kyber sing, and was not made to sit in the archives studying the scripture or with his hands buried up to the wrists in Jedha’s poor soil to coax out life. His belief was a bright and airy thing, easily kept in the bustle of the temple. 

When Chirrut returned from the riots on the ninth day, it was with a face streaked with ash and eyes swollen shut from smoke and with a devotion so fierce and hot that it brought Baze to his knees. 

“I thought you were dead,” Baze said. “I thought I would bury you.” 

Chirrut reached for him. His hands were cracked and bleeding, but his touch was gentle as he guided Baze to rest against him. 

“I will not make you bury me,” he said. “But we’re not done here.” 

The kyber still sang and the streets still burned, and perhaps they were not done, but Baze’s faith had always needed a function to fulfill, and what was he without that? How could he remain without a tether? 

And so he bartered and begged a ship, and he left with a husband who had not stopped burning since he came in from the fire. 

* * *

Chirrut was easy to find, as he was in many ways predictable. For all he liked having an unhealthily amount of attention on himself, Chirrut preferred solitude when he was licking his proverbial emotional wounds, somewhere dark and quiet where no one would witness him aching. 

_The Domino_ ,like any ship with a sizeable crew, did not have many options, but _The Enlightenment_ did. Baze found Chirrut in the converted bedroom, his back to the wall and his legs stretched out along the mattress. He tipped his head in Baze’s direction but made no other effort to acknowledge his presence. 

“You were right,” Baze said. 

“Of course I was,” Chirrut said. “I’m always right.” 

“You’re only right approximately three-quarters of the time,” Baze corrected, and for a moment Chirrut forgot how angry he was because he smiled before catching himself. “But I meant you were right about me not wanting to wait any longer to get married.” 

Normally Chirrut would be rubbing it in Baze’s face, for he loved nothing so much as Baze admitting when he was wrong and, consequently, when Chirrut was right, but now he just sat in silence, unmoved. 

Baze sighed; he deserved that. “I thought if I waited, if you had more time, you’d realize you had plenty of other options. Better, in some cases.” 

“There is no one better,” Chirrut snapped, mouth twisted in annoyance, either at Baze’s words or at himself, Baze did not know. “Not for me. Do you know how hard I worked to get your attention? How long I waited for you to be ready?” 

“I know,” Baze said. Chirrut was stubborn and headstrong, but he was always achingly careful where Baze was concerned. “May I sit?” 

Chirrut’s head cocked to the side, as if he was deeply considering the question, before he made room, legs folded under him. 

Baze sat in the space Chirrut made for him, and said, “I don’t know how to fix this.” 

“That must be killing you,” Chirrut said. 

“It is. Chirrut, you know I would never lea—” 

Chirrut held up one hand, and Baze obediently fell silent. “I know. But you still left Jedha.” 

“Do you remember when you were chosen for travel?” Baze asked. “It was right after you—” 

“Made guardian. Yes, I remember.” 

The Whills had gifted kyber to a neighboring planet, and Chirrut had been among those chosen to deliver it. He had been gone a month, and when he returned he brought stories about a vast ocean, which he had waded into until he no longer felt the sandy floor, and there he floated until the twin moons rose. 

Baze had tried to picture it, thinking it like a kyber bath, only deep enough his feet would not touch the bottom. There were no oceans on Jedha, and certainly none in the Holy City, and so Baze had inevitably failed. 

“I never left, not until _The Enlightenment,”_ he said. 

“You never saw a need,” Chirrut said, thoughtful now. The old masters thought Chirrut too impatient for deep thought, but Baze had always known better. Chirrut just preferred to do his thinking differently. “But now you do.” 

“We are not the Jedi. We are not designed to be alone. We need attachments. Jedha needs attachments.” 

“And so you left to find some?” 

“No,” Baze said, because he was an honest man. “I left because the Empire came and murdered our brothers and sisters and burned our home. I left because I saw no way to stop them. I left because I did not want to see you die.” 

Chirrut reached for him then, wrapping his hand around Baze’s wrist. Not to restrain him, never that, but just to hold on. “And I left with you because I saw you slowly dying,” Chirrut said. 

Baze closed his eyes. Chirrut was right; he had gained his faith while Baze had lost his, and the grief of it was a weight he carried even now. 

“But you should never have tried to leave me,” Chirrut finally said. 

“I shouldn’t have,” Baze said. “You’re not something I can. I’m sorry I made you doubt that.” He turned his hand over, and Chirrut pressed their palms together. 

“When we married,” Chirrut said, “you made a vow to me. Do you intend to keep it, Baze Malbus?” 

Baze took in the familiar planes of Chirrut’s face, the beloved and prideful mouth, and said, “I do, Chirrut Îmwe, until the day I die.” 

Chirrut smiled. “Well, I suppose that’s all right.” 

“Are you done sulking now? Cody says you’re making _The Domino_ sad.” 

Chirrut pulled on their joined hands until Baze sprawled over him. “Depends. Shall we go back to our bunk and test how thin the walls really are?” 

“You are very spoiled,” Baze told him. 

“And whose fault is that?” 

“Mine,” Baze said, and kissed him. 

* * *

The walls, it turned out, were very thin. 

* * *

Cody found him prepping his heavy cannon. The clones had done him the courtesy of not tampering with it, but that didn’t mean there weren’t improvements to be made. 

“I’m glad to find you alive,” Cody said. At Baze’s confused look, he added, “The boys said it sounded like someone was dying.” 

Baze was too old to blush, and so he didn’t. “Chirrut can be enthusiastic,” he said. 

They had left their room that morning only to be meant by a wall of stone faced brothers, who solemnly handed Chirrut what appeared to be a crude award shaped from discarded armor plating. The only reason Chirrut had not given an acceptance speech was because Baze had dragged him away before he could open his fool mouth. 

His one regret was that Numa had, with great determination, refused to meet his eyes all day. 

“So I’ve gathered,” Cody said, considering him. “You throwing in with us?” 

Baze checked the aiming mechanism; he made a small adjustment. “Yes. We’ll see this through.” 

“Not that we can’t use you, but why the hell are you throwing in?” 

He considered what answer would fit the question, and said, “There was a school of thought that the Order of the Whills and the Jedi were once one and the same. There was supposedly a schism over a fundamental teaching, and the sects parted ways. Do you know why?” 

“I don’t remember asking for a theological lesson.” 

“Because the Jedi held that attachments too easily led them astray, or so I’ve been told.” Baze sighted down the barrel, satisfied when there was no drift. “The Whills disagreed. We hold attachments are what keep us here in the world. We are not—” 

“Built to be alone, I know.” 

“You were listening,” he said, approving. 

Cody snorted. “You want something. What is it?” 

Baze left his home because he had to, but Cody and his brothers never had one at all. Baze wanted to give them one, if they were willing. He hoped they were. 

“The Empire came to Jedha for her kyber. They’re strip mining all of it. I'm not sure for what purpose, but we both know it’s not anything good.” He stood, bringing him eye level with Cody. “I couldn’t help Jedha on my own, and you can’t take down the Empire alone, either.” 

“So you want us to help each other out? That simple?” 

“It is,” Baze said, “if we choose it to be.” 

“You sound like Rex.” Cody sighed. “Look, the Empire is going to be dug in deep, you know that. They’re using Jedha as a hard labor camp for their political prisoners among other things. It won’t be easy getting rid of them.” 

“I never said it was. It’s not impossible.” 

Cody snorted. “Damn near it, though. We’ll need an army that knows what it’s doing.” 

“Lucky for us we might be getting one in the near future.” 

Cody was unimpressed, just as the abbot once was. “I mean no disrespect, but I have to ask: is all this worth it?” 

Baze thought of Jedha, of her red earth that refused to easily yield crops, of her long, hard frost and the wet season that was somehow worse. Of the kyber that still sang bright and clear. Of how Chirrut looked under her winter sun, smiling with too much gum. Of how she burned. 

And of how he never wanted to leave, right up until the moment he had to if he wished to remain sane. 

“Yes,” he said. “Like us, the Jedi came from her, and to her they will return.” 

“You haven’t met any actual Jedi,” Cody said, “or you’d realize that’s complete bantha shit.” 

That wasn’t a no; Cody wanted to be convinced. “The strongest stars have hearts of kyber, or so Chirrut is fond of claiming. Jedha has quite a bit of it, even with the Empire’s mining.” 

“And you’ll give it to us?” 

“If you’re worthy,” said Baze, honest. “And I think you are.” 

The eyebrow went up, and Cody said, “Jedha’s not a bad place to set up a base. It has some advantages. It’ll also look good, taking it back from the Empire. Might finally bring in some of the systems holding out.” 

“You’re going to help,” Baze said. 

Instead of the eyebrow again, he was graced with Cody’s genuine smile. “Like you said, we’re not meant to be alone.” 

Baze hesitantly bumped his knuckles into Cody’s shoulder. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me just yet. We still got a long way to go before we’re even ready to start planning for this.” 

Baze thought of Chirrut’s furious, righteous devotion that brought Baze to his knees, every time, and said, “We’ll make it through.” 

“If the Force is with us,” Cody said, only mildly ironic. 

He waited for Baze to shoulder his cannon, and then together they stepped out into the light. 

* * *

They retrieved Riyo Chuchi alive. It was quick if not easy. He and Chirrut had been ordered to hold the airlock as the clones did the actual rescuing. Or, to be honest, and Baze was an honest man, Chirrut held the airlock while Baze, entranced by how Chirrut moved, picked off the occasional stormtrooper Chirrut missed. 

“If you say the Force saved you,” Baze said, firing three quick shots to take down the troopers coming in on Chirrut’s left, “I’ll divorce you.” 

Chirrut grinned. “But the Force did save me through you.” 

Before Baze could retort, the clones returned, Riyo Chuchi in their center, and they retreated back through the airlock and onto _The Domino_ where they were met by Echo. 

“I know you,” Chuchi said, hands shaking as she reached for him. 

“You do,” Echo said, letting her gently clasp his forearms, mindful of his data ports. “We have you.” 

And that, Baze had come to realize, was the truth of it: the clones had them all. 

“Ma’am,” Cody said, steadying her with care as _The Domino_ jumped to hyperspace. “You’re safe now.” 

Chuchi looked up, her face thin and drawn. “Thank you, Commander.” 

“It’s general now,” Boil said, ignoring the look Cody gave him. 

Chuchi’s eyebrows rose. “You’re with us?” 

“For better or worse,” Cody said. 

“I’m hoping for better.” With careful movements she twisted her hair back from her face as her spine unfolded by degrees. “If I may ask, General, where are we going?” 

“Tatooine,” Cody answered. “I have business there, but then we’re headed to Yavin. I hear that’s where my army is waiting. But right now you get to visit Az. Echo, if you will please assist the senator.” 

“If I must,” Chuchi said, making a face as she allowed Echo to lead her away. 

“You were right,” Chirrut said quietly. 

Baze lifted his arm so Chirrut could lean in close. “What was that? I think I misheard you.” 

“You were right,” Chirrut repeated, as if it pained him to do so. “To throw in with them, I mean.” 

He caught Cody’s eye and said, “We were both right.” 

“I knew we should have left you for dead,” Boil said from behind them, unimpressed. 

Chirrut smiled with too much gum, and said, “It’s too late now. You’re stuck with us.” 

“Lucky fucking us,” Boil muttered. 

Baze turned so that his nose brushed Chirrut’s temple. “Yes, lucky for all of us.” 

Chirrut was still grinning as, ignoring Boil’s protests, he pulled Baze in for a filthy but emotionally fulfilling kiss. 

* * *

When the Empire came, the ginkgo tree, which had stood for centuries since the moment the first pilgrims planted it in Jedha’s red dust, burned with the rest of the temple. Baze grieved both, but in the end the temple was just stones and the tree was just a tree. Jedha survived in her people. 

On the day when the last of the Imperial forces surrendered to the general of the Grand Army of the Alliance, Baze planted a sapling in the Eastern District to mark the place they would begin again. 

“Here,” Baze said, guiding Chirrut’s hands to where the straw needed to be laid in order to protect the sapling’s roots. 

“Yes, I know,” Chirrut said. “I did have gardening duty before.” 

“As punishment, I recall.” Baze sat back on his heels. “Well?” 

“It’ll take,” Cody said. He still wore his dress uniform, although he had stripped off all signifiers of rank. “What do you think?” 

“It’s cold,” Rex said, head bent against the wind that signaled winter would soon be there in all its ferocity. “But it’s better than sand.” 

“I suppose it is,” Obi-Wan said, right on the edge of bittersweet laughter. “This is a good place for a beginning.” 

Chirrut wrapped his hand, covered in Jedha’s red soil around Baze’s wrist, always just to hold on. “The abbot would be proud of you,” he said quietly. “You brought the Jedi back.” 

Baze touched one of the small, fragile leaves, and said, “No, we brought ourselves. It was time we all returned home.” 

And then, his hand in Chirrut’s, Baze bid them all, brothers and Jedi alike, to walk with him into the Holy City and begin the work that lay before them. 

* * *

Over more generations than anyone cared to count, the tree grew tall and it grew wide, and every season it shed its red leaves upon the courtyard where they would be swept away by those the masters thought needed extra reflection on patience and duty. 

One day a girl turned to her companion and said, “Did you know the guardians and the Jedi used to marry under here?” 

Her companion shrugged, not looking up from her work. “So?” 

“So,” the girl said, “I’ll be married here one day.” 

Her companion frowned. “Married? Who would marry you?” 

“A lot of people like me,” the girl retorted, defensive. “Anyone would be happy to marry me. You’ll be there. You’ll see.” 

Her companion made a show of rolling her eyes, but said, “Fine, I’ll be there to see what fool would marry you.” 

The girl grinned so wide it revealed the gap in her teeth that her companion would never admit she liked. “Me and you,” she repeated. “You’ll see.” 

Then the girls, hearing the kyber sing beneath their feet, bent back to their work, together. 

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of things:
> 
> 1) The Grand Army of the Alliance was inspired by a prompt by Norcumi.
> 
> 2) The bit where Cody gets the data crystal is an easter egg for this [ficlet](https://dharmaavocado.tumblr.com/post/187363341642/g-a-fistfight-for-cody-please) (and yes, I know I had Sixer in the ficlet and not Oddball, I changed i don't at me)
> 
> 3) Thank you to everyone who read my multiple Six Sentence Sundays and egged me on. You're all terrible enablers and I love you.
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://dharmaavocado.tumblr.com/)


End file.
